


Ten Times Doctor Rodney McKay Stopped At the Starbucks on His Way To Work

by Losyark



Series: Rodney's Numbers [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, F/M, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-17
Updated: 2007-08-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Losyark/pseuds/Losyark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles about how Rodney's most imporant interpersonal relationship before Sheppard was probably with his barista.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Times Doctor Rodney McKay Stopped At the Starbucks on His Way To Work

****

  
One:

“... and just half a shot of vanilla stuff,” he finished, hands jammed into his pockets. “And please make it snappy – some of us have real jobs to get to. On time.”

The barista behind the counter’s smile got faker, her eyes brighter, and she turned away to assemble his order.

“Oh, hey,” Rodney said, and snapped his fingers to get her attention. Her shoulders sort of bunched up around her ears, but when she turned back around, her face was serene.

“Yes?”

“Those cinnamon buns, one of those, too.”

She began to reach into the glass cabinet, but then Rodney realized that the bun was sitting right beside one of the yellow squares.

“Wait,” he said. “Are those squares lemon?”

She shifted her hand to hover above one of them instead. “Yes,” she said.

“Never mind,” he said. “I’m allergic to citrus. And you know, it’s very irresponsible of your company to not take into account these kinds of things. I mean, people with nut allergies are always warned, and people wash their hands for _them,_ but citrus allergies oh, no--”

The speech went on until the barista pressed the coffee into his hands and almost threw his change at his head.

Rodney was twenty minutes late for work on his first day.

* * *

Two:

“Oh my god,” Rodney heard the barista groan as he pushed back the door.

He gave her his most brilliant smile, the one that he thought was absolutely charming, the one that had _almost_ got Sarah Lalonde to sleep with him in grad school. He didn’t want her to spit in his coffee.

Rodney waited patiently in line for his turn, tapping his fingers against the face of his watch in the rhythm of the arpeggios of some Beethoven piece or another. The third, yes, the third.

“Same thing?” she asked, in a pre-emptive strike when he opened his mouth.

“Yeah,” Rodney said, a little taken aback. “You remember?”

“How could I forget?”

* * *

Three:

Rodney was running late this morning. He wished the Starbucks had a drive in. He hated having to park his junker and run in. But, it was the last place to get decent coffee before he got to Area 51 every morning.

It still gave him a secret little thrill that he was working at _the_ Area 51, geek that he was.

The barista behind the counter had his coffee waiting for him.

“Thanks,” he babbled, dropping the change into her outstretched hand.

He grabbed the extra large cup and was about to run back out when the barista said, “Hey, wait!”

He turned back around and saw that she was holding out a paper bag. It was folded neatly along the top, twice. “This is for you,” she said.

He frowned. “I didn’t--” he began.

“I made sure I washed my hands first,” she said with a little smile.

Rodney felt his eyes get wide, that little hitching lump of something forming in his throat. It was embarrassing and he hated it. He got it every time someone did something nice for him. That’s why he never let anyone do anything nice.

“Yeah, right, thanks, I’m late, I’m not paying for it,” he said as he grabbed the bag.

“Of course not,” the barista said. She winked at him. “I’ll just charge you double tomorrow.”

* * *

Four:

During his lunch break, Rodney left the base and went back to the Starbucks.

“Here,” he said, and handed over the cash for the cinnamon bun she had given him this morning. It had nagged him all through his simulations and he hated, _hated_ owing anyone anything.

The barista smiled and took the money without a snide comment. “So, you staying for lunch?” she asked.

“Might as well.”

“The usual?”

“Yeah. And, uh...” he perused the cabinet. He noticed that the lemon squares had vanished. “Hey, where are the...?”

She shrugged and for and brief second her uniform shirt lifted in such a way that he could see _right down it_.

“You’re allergic, so we stopped carrying them,” she said.

“You did?” he said, still distracted by the hint of her breasts. “Of course you did!” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll have the quiche.”

* * *

Five:

“You look like shit,” the barista said.

Rodney looked up from where he had been counting the change on his palm. “Uh, yeah,” he said, distractedly. “Bad few days. Had to go to Colorado.”

“Here,” she said, and gave him his regular coffee.

He took a sip as she rang up his receipt. “Hey, there’s espresso in here.”

She gave him that twinkly smile. “You looked like you needed it.”

Rodney gave a sort of crooked smile back.

* * *

Six:

There were no Starbucks in Siberia. His morning coffee never had vanilla and espresso in it, and nobody gave him twinkly smiles.

* * *

Seven:

“Hello, stranger,” the barista said.

“Oh god,” Rodney replied. “I missed your voice.” Her eyebrows went upwards just slightly.

“Yeah?”

“And your coffee. Please, god, real coffee...”

She laughed, and Rodney thought it was sort of a nice laugh. Not like the way Sam Carter laughed at him, like she thought he was a monkey with a PhD.

“Cad,” the barista said, “And here I thought it was me you loved.”

Rodney wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that one, so he didn’t.

“So where you been?” the barista asked as she frothed his milk.

“Siberia,” he moaned. “I hate the cold. I’m a terrible Canadian.”

“You’re Canadian?” she asked. “Why are you in Nevada?”

“Work,” he said.

Money changed hands, and so did a free ‘welcome home’ cinnamon bun.

* * *

Eight

“They’re farming me out, again,” Rodney said. The barista paused in her pouring and frowned.

“Really? Somewhere cold again?”

“Antarctica.”

She winced on his behalf. “No good coffee there,” she said.

“No kidding.”

She handed him his coffee, and a bag of pre-ground beans from the back shelf. “Going away present,” she said.

“I can’t,” he said, “Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Comes off my pay,” she said with a shrug. “Take it or I’ll be offended.” And then she pouted in this way that made Rodney wonder what her lip-gloss tasted like.

He stuffed the bag into his briefcase.

* * *

Nine

“Hey, you’re back!” the barista said, and she actually seemed genuinely happy to see him.

Rodney wasn’t used to people actually being happy to see him, besides his cat.

She pointed at the display cabinet. “No lemon squares, still. Hungry?”

“Yeah, one of those chicken salad sandwiches would be great. And my regular. You still remember?”

“Of course I do,” the barista said, and Rodney admired her slender, dexterous hands as they poured and spun bottles, and when had making coffee turned into such an art form? “You back in Nevada for good?”

“No,” he said, and he couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “Just to put my things into storage, take care of my cat. I’m being shipped out to somewhere... very far away.”

She sort of frowned. When she gave him his coffee, their fingers brushed for a moment. Rodney would remember that touch for many long nights to come.

“So, ah,” she said. “You got time to see a movie before you go?”

Rodney sucked in a breath. He really wanted to say yes. But he had to drive for half the day to make it back to Colorado Springs in time to get a decent nights’ sleep. He left in the morning.

“No,” he said, and wished he hadn’t.

He spent the next year making his own coffee, and wondering why he had never bothered to read her nametag.

* * *

Ten

“See, Major,” Rodney said, pointing at the display case, “No lemon squares. Still. Just for me.” He looked around what he had come to think of as _his_ Starbucks with glee.

“Colonel,” John corrected with a smirk.

“Right, damn, Colonel.”

“Hey, stranger,” the barista’s voice called, and Rodney looked up, all ready to smile and be charming and read her name tag. He had practiced how he would apologize for being away and then ask her if that offer of a movie was still good.

He had survived a Wraith siege. He could ask out a girl. No problems. In front of Sheppard, even.

But the barista was not behind the counter.

She was sitting at a small table by the window, a sketch book spread out in front of her.

“Oh, hi, hey,” Rodney said, eyebrows drawing up in confusion. “Aren’t you? I mean, shouldn’t--?”

She smiled slightly. “I quit.”

“What?” Rodney practically shrieked. Sheppard elbowed him in the back and Rodney waved a hand in his face and said, “Go order your coffee, Maj—Colonel.” Then he walked over to the table. “You can’t _quit_ ,” he told the barista. “You... you know my coffee!”

She pointed at the sketchbook. “I finally got hired by an animation company.”

“Oh, hey, good for you,” Rodney said distractedly. “It’s good, yes, but I was, well, I was really looking forward to your coffee, you know and, uh... I didn’t even get to read your nametag before.”

She chuckled. “Jennifer,” she said.

“What?”

“My name. Jennifer.”

“Oh. Ah, I’m... uh...”

“Rodney,” said Sheppard from over his shoulder. He handed Rodney a coffee that was black. He liked it that way on Atlantis, but he had been looking forward to vanilla and frothed milk.

Sheppard was still going: “And he’s an astrophysicist and he's got two PhDs and he’s brilliant and he’s not afraid to tell anyone. He likes sci-fi television and things that explode a little bit and long walks on the beach.”

“I hate beaches,” Rodney sniped.  "Sand between my toes. Eugh."

Jennifer laughed. She gestured for Rodney to join her at the table, and Sheppard too. They sat.

“So, uh...” she said, packing away her sketchbook and her pencils. “You here for long?”

“Just a week,” Sheppard stepped in when Rodney said nothing. “Then they boot our butts back.”

“Oh,” Jennifer said.

Rodney screwed up his courage, even though his cheeks felt pretty red. He tapped out the rhythm of long forgotten warm-up scales on the side of his coffee cup. “But, you know, a week is plenty of time to go see a movie,” he said.


End file.
